


Endurance

by Adsecula



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, everyone apart from shmi is mentioned only (within memories and thoughts etc.)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5671333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adsecula/pseuds/Adsecula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shmi Skywalker sometimes takes a walk to contemplate aspects of her life. (Post-TPM)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endurance

It was nearly dusk when Shmi Skywalker arrived to her destination. She always came out here to think, at the edge of the slums, wandering around the dusty little landing platform overlooking the vast desert.

  
It was rarely in use. Guests to Mos Espa's slave quarters were few and far between, as starship owners preferred to land in less remote areas. The slaves themselves had scant opportunity to leave the town, even on their master's business.  
Supplies of food and other essentials were either delivered within the markets and subsequently carried on foot to the homes, or came in by traders traveling in eopie caravans.  
Anakin had always questioned them, those lean men with weathered faces, taking an interest in what equipment they carried and where they would go next.  
He had already talked to every member of the caravan, it seemed, by the time Shmi had managed to haggle out good prices for the dried vegetables and cloth scraps that she needed, or whatever small wares they had to get for Watto's shop.

* * *

 

These days, there were few items that Watto required. There was even less that Shmi felt she could do to help him. She occasionally even snapped criticisms, when even her iron nerves had finally frayed, after fixing each of his ever-growing messes. Sometimes, he even agreed to what she said and obeyed her advice meekly. He really was losing his reputation as a tough merchant fast, doing steadily worse with his store: all due to the drinking and the gambling debts.

Shmi thought it would not be long before she would have to entirely provide for both of them.  
She did not fear this.

Already he was renting her out whenever he could, as emergency help at the remote moisture farms. Her innate talent at mechanics meant she was reserved for less, how did they put it, less _interactive_ jobs than what some of the poor neighbouring Twi'lek girls were expected to do. But then again, those same girls always winced in pity at the bruises all over Shmi's hands and feet, inevitable marks of yet another urgent repair intervention.  
It was deadly dangerous work sometimes, yes, but Shmi shrugged it off. She no longer cared as deeply about what injuries her workload might bring. There was just her, C-3PO and rheumy old Watto left. As owners went, the Toydarian was not even nearly among the worst, but she really did not care if he was left all alone. She had made a promise for the welfare of C-3PO, but she knew young Kitster would take just as good care of him in the event of her demise.

  
There was a certain freedom in this feeling. Shmi had struggled to stay healthy and alive for her brave little boy, yet now she could afford the luxury of being almost ambivalent towards death.  
Yes, Anakin was safe from a slave's life now, far from Tatooine.

Shmi smiled, a little sadly.

The warm dry wind pulled at her skirts. She looked out towards the long dunes, her thoughts far away.

* * *

 

She missed her son deeply. It had been already five years since he had left, yet memories of him constantly itched at the corners of Shmi's mind, haunting every hour of her day. The hole his absence had created in her chest was unspeakably deep and raw. It made her at turns both listless and reckless.

A decent man she had met out while working at the farms - Lars, his name was - had said that this was called depression. He had lost his wife years back, had said that he understood what she was going through. She privately thought he did not: he still had his own boy with him, a practical and steady youth, so different from her Anakin.

Shmi trailed her foot in circles across the dust on the platform, stirring it up slowly, watching the wind carry it away.

The farmer's son had been kind to her, too, bringing her bottles of cool water to refresh her while she worked. She had later cooked dinner for them, wishing to stall a little time before going to back her empty hovel. They had sat down together and talked, all three of them. It had been a pleasant and warm experience, not something Shmi was much used to.

She had by ill luck not been out to see either of them for a while, but she had met Lars in town the other day and he had told her, rather significantly and with a dose of mystery in his tone, that they were saving up as much money as they could. It was for something important. He thought she would be very happy when he told her about it.

  
Shmi had laughed heartily. She still did not know what he had really meant, but she had imagined the Lars homestead would perhaps be buying a new water pump and were hoping she would come to visit to tune it up with the main system.

  
She thought she rather liked them both: these two kind and down-to-earth men, who had somehow bit by bit included her into their lives. What amused her the most about them was how only daily work and duties stood in the forefront of their minds: no daydreams at all of the great beyond.  
They were certainly not _Skywalkers_!

She quite suddenly felt her throat clench up, as if she would choke. Tears almost formed, stopping at the brim of her eyes, hesitant to spill.  
She would not be weak.  
But oh how she missed him, _her only child_ , each and every time that her thoughts turned to him.  
Regret for letting him go and guilt for wishing him back both scrabbled within her heart for dominance.

  
_This is no way to live_ , she thought.

* * *

  
If only she could rid herself of the futile desire. She could not fight change. After all, she knew she was selfish to yearn for a child she had seen set free, heading into a bright future. She should instead be celebrating each day in triumph, knowing that no more Skywalkers would ever have to grow up in this harsh and unforgiving place. But still that one question remained, tugging at her lips -

'Will I ever see him again?' She murmured, her voice low.

The desert, as always when she came to it to speak her mind freely, was silent. No reply came. No admonishment. It calmed her.

'Thank you', she told it.

She stepped off the landing platform's edge and went a little way down the dunes, feeling the sand shift and sink beneath her feet.

She knew some people worried that she came out here to contemplate ending her life. They begged her to be careful, to not wander too far into the wilderness where her slave transmitter might lose contact and blow up. They did not understand that it was just the opposite: she came to this nothingness only to free her head of everything poisonous gathering within it.

The desert was such a sad, empty, lonely place. It was perfect for her. So when Shmi reached the summit of the nearest dune, she stood to a halt and closed her eyes for several minutes.

  
Just breathing.  
Existing.

As the twin suns burned red and finally began to slip over the edge of the horizon, they illuminated the sole visitor of the desert's edge. Her ragged clothes blew in the warm evening wind, casting a dancing shadow to trail over the sands.

The last light played at her lone figure and for one moment all the traces of hard work and worries slipped from her face, giving her the grace and bearing of an empress.

Her attentive eyes watched the suns set and stars begin to rise. Slowly, Shmi found peace. She realised, on some inexplicable but certain level, that she would indeed see her family again - that she would cross paths with her Anakin.

All she had to do was what she had always done: to wait.  
And against all odds, to endure.

**Author's Note:**

> This was made for a quick character writing challenge: I asked for suggestions of characters who don't get enough fandom attention and Shmi really does fit that description well. 
> 
> Not particularly relevant, but the information that Lars is hiding in this story is that he will later on buy her freedom. I like to think that Shmi got along well with her new family and that Luke was happily taken in by Owen and Beru because they remembered Shmi's kindness fondly and wished to keep her grandson safe.


End file.
